Or Something Like It
by muse of monotony
Summary: 100 Challenges dealing with the Go Pros starting with HikaruAkira. Challenge 13 up!
1. Drink

**Author's Notes:** This was originally for another challenge group, which I've since dropped. I've decided to use this as a launching point for my fanfic 100, instead. Enjoy!

The plastic button clicked under his fingers, the display flashing 'sold out' in neon red. Shindou let out his breath in a huff, brushing the bleached bangs from his eyes as he contemplated kicking the black grate at the vending machines bottom.

It was one of those unimaginable things. How could one soft drink that not only had three slots in the vending machine, but was popular solely among sports-conscious teens be sold out at a Go institute? The fact that he himself was the only one he ever saw with the trademark neon green and yellow can with the letters 'jolt!' along it's side made it even more boggling. It was just one of those many things that set him apart- alongside his dyed hair, trendy clothes and Shonen Jumps he was often found with during breaks. It was a wonder the worst he'd been called in such a conservative environment was 'that punk kid.'

And yet, it was sold out. Every last one of them. Shindou briefly wondered if he'd been the one to buy them all.

He tapped the grate with his toes, flinching at the soft scraping of metal his actions produced. He entertained the notion of giving the machine a swift kick in the plastic, wondering if he could dent it. Glancing around for witnesses, he glared at the occupied lobby, where a group of young girls were giggling over some couple kissing on a teenage drama. He tried to remind himself he wasn't twelve anymore, he wouldn't walk away from assaulting a vending machine with just a warning.

Smacking his hand lightly above the display, he glanced over the other options, settling on an iced tea, which made a satisfying thump as it fell into the bucket. He bent to pick up the cool glass- and hit his head against the machines hard plastic covering.

Swearing out loud- drawing attention from two women looking at the map next to the front desk-Shindou straightened and thrust the beverage into his messenger bag. _This just isn't my day,_ he thought.

Trudging up the institute steps- bypassing the elevator after seeing a line of people waiting for it's return- Shindou kept his face at his feet, baggy jeans covering most of his shoes.

He was a creature of habit despite what most people might think. He relied on the simplest of things. Loud and sporadic he may be, of which he himself would freely admit, but seeing unreliability in other people always made his blood boil. Especially in people he cared about.

Especially when it came to his friends.

Especially in friends he _defined_ as reliable.

Were the _epitome_ of reliable.

Which, of course, chose the least convenient time to prove otherwise.

Realizing that he was stomping up the steps, Shindou let out another breath of air. Deciding it wasn't too juvenile to jut out his lower lip in a pout as long as no one was watching- which, of course, on the empty stairwell no one was- he did just that.

Yes, Shindou Hikaru was a creature of habit. He liked buying his Shonen Jump on the way to his tutoring sessions Tuesday mornings, he would always make his way to the 2nd floor to buy his favorite soda, and on Thursday nights he would always, _always_ walk with Touya after the evening shidougo lessons to his fathers salon to play a game of go.

Which was why when he left the stuffy room to find the hallway empty of his friends presence he was briefly shocked, confused, then inexplicably furious.

They had never _said_ they'd always meet Thursday nights, of course; it had never been set in stone, it just always seemed to happen. _I can't get too angry,_ he thought. _It's not like he stood me up if we never officially agreed to meet in the first place._

But no matter what he told himself, he couldn't contain the feeling of betrayal- and jealousy.

Reaching the fourth floor, Shindou pushed the door open and turned left, hoping to catch Waya and Isumi before they left after their games so he could con them into hanging out. If Touya was going to forget about him, he was determined to forget him too.

He wouldn't even think of Touya's favorite iced tea weighing down his bag.


	2. Hours

Touya's phone shook his jacket, startling his stare from the sterile white wall. He dazedly reached into his pocket for his cell phone, feeling for the keys to turn off the power, finally relaxing when he heard the telltale jingle.

He hadn't slept in 24 hours, and it didn't look like he would anytime soon. He'd missed a game- the first ever. He thought about calling the institute to get it rescheduled, but the task seemed too daunting for his stupefied mind to accomplish.

He barely registered his mother at his side, her shoulders shaking. It made him uneasy to see her like this- she had always been so strong…

It shouldn't be a surprise. It was going to happen. It could happen, at any moment.

Briefly Touya wondered who had been calling him. He debated checking his messages, but remembered he was told to keep his cell phone off. He'd forgotten to do so at the time. Something about the equipment- he hadn't paid much attention to it, too distracted by other things.

He resumed his baffled stare, eyes tracing the frame of one of those inspirational posters for what must have been the hundredth time. His eyes drifted to the bottom corner, where some of the paint had been chipped, studying it over and over again. He tried to break his gaze, which only caused his lids to fall over his dried eyes.

He was tired. Exhausted. But he couldn't sleep. He could spend the rest of his life sleeping if he could only get through this one day.

A nurse came through the double doors, followed by a doctor in scrubs. Their faces were grim, and Touya gripped his seat, willing them to go to someone else- anyone else. For the first time in his life, he wished someone else would die.

They moved on down the hallway, and Touya's chest deflated. His mother just kept shaking, shoulders sagging in resignation.

Defeated.

His eyes burned. He fidgeted in his seat, hands restlessly gripping the seat, then his leg, then moved to push the hair from his eyes. It was hard to keep awake, but he imagined sleeping would be even worse. His mind was a jumble of memories, none making any sense but all so crisp he thought if he'd close his eyes he'd never come back.

Eyes staring at the fluorescent lights, he remembered his fathers hands, warm as they led him down the stairs of their one story home- large enough to live comfortably, but small enough for just three. His mother would kiss him on the cheek, then his father on the lips, and wish them good luck before resuming her cleaning. Closing his eyes, he could smell the garden, freshly trimmed as they walked up the path, heading towards the station, and inevitably the go salon. He remembered watching his father's games in awe, watching every stone but never really understanding what it meant.

He remembered the game that made him want to play go. He recreated it often. It was that day he had decided his dad was invincible. That he wanted to be just like him. He'd been enrolled in a class the next day.

He remembered how betrayed he'd felt. He'd wanted his father to teach him. But Touya Kouyo would have none of it. He spent his first year learning go without ever once playing against his father.

He remembered the first day his father asked him for a game. He'd been so excited he couldn't concentrate, and his father refused another game for months.

This time he was careful, calm. He hadn't won by any means, but for the first time he could understand that look on his fathers face. Pride.

He promised himself he'd win against his father one day.

He never did.

He'd lost sight of why he played, and he was being punished- or so he told himself. He'd become distracted with Shindou, with Sai, when what he really needed was under his nose the whole time. He thought of quitting being a pro and playing unofficially like his father did, then dismissed the thought. He hadn't the fame to make it a living without the pro wages.

The doors opened again, and Touya debated whether it would be better to face the possible bad news head on or turn away and greet it only when addressed.

He blinked his eyes into focus- the walls didn't seem as white as they were before, and Touya rubbed them vigorously, hoping to wipe the sleep away.

His hand felt in his pockets for his phone, warm from being pressed up against his belly. As his eyes met those of the gray-haired doctor searching for his face, he prayed that Shindou would somehow save him from what was to come.


	3. Spirit

He held his breath as the yellow light of the flickering lamps passed by- rolling it over his tongue, imagining he could taste it become stale in his throat. The trees lining the park fence seemed to be burning, red and yellow leaves aflame in the cold fall night. His chest started to prickle, the trapped air seemingly trying to escape through his pores.

It was a habit he'd begun since I _he'd /I _disappeared. It had been unconscious, which had to be a sign of something- Shindou wasn't sure what. He'd never given it a second thought. If he started to wonder things would seem more real.

After Touya stood him up, he'd caught up with Waya just as he was heading towards the elevator. He'd pulled the surprised pro out of the crowd and towards the stairwell, and they'd spent the rest of the night playing speed go at Waya's apartment. It had been fun- if he ignored the confused stares his friend threw at him when he thought Shindou wasn't looking.

The lights danced to his right, giving flame to a firefly that flickered twice before it disappeared into the gloom. The bushes prickled under the glow- leaves on end like a cat ready to pounce. He closed his eyes as he passed the park entrance, stopping himself from seeing the weathered sign to what had once been his favorite place to think- something he rarely did.

The air burned in his lungs, his heart beating in his temple. He quickened his pace, struggling to make it past the last fence.

His sneakers caught a crack in the sidewalk, causing him to fumble sideways into the black metal fence before he opened them again. Holding himself up on the top bar, he let out his breath, inhaling sharply as he watched the firefly flicker once more, lighting the bark of a tree before all became dark.

A chill swept through his lungs, ice gripping at his pulse. Words danced in his head, begging to become thoughts. He broke into a run, keeping the sight- and memories- at bay.

He made it to the corner, inspecting his sneakers for scuffs- cursing at the black marks from the blacktop that marked the entryway. His limbs were thrumming from the run- more winded than he'd ever been from such a quick exercise. Yet another thing that'd changed.

He turned the corner onto his street, the familiar homes calming his nerves.

It had been hard passing the park the first time after Sai disappeared. The trees held so many memories…

He remembered walking home with his uncle from getting ice cream. It had been a new parlor, and though neither of them liked it as well as their own, it had been nice to go somewhere new. He remembered turning the corner and his grandfather putting his fingers across his lips, pushing the air back in his lungs. He'd panicked, grabbing at his arm, trying to pull it away so he could breathe, only to be lifted under his arms and carried down the block. Finally, he was let to breathe.

Catching his breath, he'd turned to his uncle- furious. He'd merely shaken his head.

"You were being rude, brat. You have to hold your breath when you pass a cemetery. It's not polite to breathe in front of people who can't."

He'd grumbled under his breath- being careful not to let his uncle hear. His great uncle had been American- a superstitious one, apparently. He was always saying the strangest things. His mother had never let his uncle take him out after that, appalled at how he'd manhandled her son.

They'd never gone back to that parlor.

He stopped.

He'd never found Sai's grave.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing the too-familiar number one last time. It rang twice, before the voice mail answered. I _Odd. He must have turned it off when I was calling. /I _

Deciding to try Touya again tomorrow, Shindou made his way up the familiar steps.


End file.
